


Fell into a Dream

by ausgezeichnet



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Episode: s04e05 Escape From the Happy Place, Grief/Mourning, M/M, One Shot, bittersweet gen fic because I'm fully back on my bullshit, but they're not dead for long so anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausgezeichnet/pseuds/ausgezeichnet
Summary: Jane leaves with the key, and Quentin is left standing alone on the solved mosaic, with Eliot’s shrouded body still waiting to be buried. His life's purpose and his life partner, gone on the same day.One-shot continuation of Quentin’s story at the end of 3x05.





	Fell into a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where this came from, I have neither written fic nor posted in years, but this show and this pairing kidnapped my soul and pulled me back in. Watching 3x05 for the first time, it struck me how sad it was to see Quentin standing on the mosaic alone, and since we know he lived out his natural life, I wanted to write this little what-happens-next one-shot and break my own damn heart. My first effort in the fandom, so be gentle, but let me know if the voices sound OOC. Brief spoilers for 4x05 at the end. 
> 
> Title (sorta) from “A Day in the Life” by the Beatles, because I couldn’t resist playing with the episode title.

Quentin stood frozen on the solved mosaic, watching as Jane Chatwin left with the key she would later use to loop them all over and over again. Eliot would have rolled his eyes and complained about the convoluted workings of time travel magic bullshit. But Eliot was gone, and his body still lay next to the mosaic, wrapped in Arielle’s quilt. The quest gave them their life together, but demanded that life as payment, and now Eliot was dead. For the first time in fifty years, Quentin found himself alone and without a purpose.

Tears began rolling down his cheeks as the weight of realization weakened his knees and sunk him down onto the empty mosaic. Eliot’s body waited to be buried, but all Quentin could do was wrap his hands in his hair and sob, crying harder than he had in years, until his old bones began to ache against the hard ground and his tears ran out.

After he cried himself dry, Quentin got up, slowly, and picked up the shovel once again. His thoughts jumbled together—he needed to tell Teddy, to somehow tell Margo how to find the key, to sit and rest. For now, though, he dug the shovel blade into the earth, relishing the clean release of working towards a goal.

The sun set, and Quentin lit the fires, barely daring to stop and think as he worked. The stars shone brightly overhead by the time he finished digging Eliot’s grave.

Quentin knelt by the shrouded body, laying his hand on the quilt. Against all odds, he found himself smiling broadly, though the smile was teary.

“We did it, El,” he whispered. “An impossible quest, and we solved it, together.”

Quentin laughed, softly through his grief, and sat back on his haunches as tears began to choke his voice. “God, I wish you were here, El. You’d be so fucking smug that we finally beat the puzzle.”

He could almost hear Eliot in that moment, saying, _Took you long enough, Coldwater,_ through that smile of his. But the imagining blew away with the next gust of wind through the clearing.

“I love you, El,” he whispered.

And with one more gentle rub of his thumb against Eliot’s hands, neatly clasped beneath the blanket, Quentin ever-so-gently levitated the body into the ground. He replaced the dirt with magic as well, physically and emotionally exhausted.

A soft crunching sound caught his attention as he stood next to the grave in the quiet of the Fillory night. A rabbit stood on the edge of the garden, solemnly watching the proceedings as he munched on a pilfered carrot. Quentin caught his eye and beckoned him over, gently picking him up to whisper a message in his ear.

\- - -

A few days later, Quentin sat near the door of the cottage, leafing through old mosaic designs. They’d tried thousands over the years, and in the end, all their work hadn’t been the solution. Or it had, because that quest became their life together, fifty beautiful years spent here. It felt like a dream, that these yellowed pages were all he had to show for a life well-lived, for Eliot’s life and death. Reading stories had never prepared him for the quiet old age after the quest was over.

He could feel the sluggishness of boredom and aimlessness settling over his shoulders. Quentin hadn’t felt quite like this in years. Even when the depression had gotten bad, he’d had Eliot’s gentle cajoling and care, his hands prodding him to eat and wash and live another day. The mosaic became his quest, but Eliot was his purpose, his drive. They drove each other. But now? What was the point?

“Dad!”

The sudden shout drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just in time for his son to lean down and catch him in a tight hug. Teddy’s arms were still strong, although there were fine smile lines around his eyes now, and his rough hands demonstrated a lifetime of hard work.

Teddy pulled back with a bright smile. “The rabbit told me that you finally solved the mosaic? After all these years! How??”

Quentin smiled a small smile, painted but not bitter.

“We showed the beauty of all life,” he said. “Eliot and I.”

The smile slid off Teddy’s face. “Where’s Pops?”

Quentin took his hand, feeling his eyes begin to shine again. God, he hadn’t felt this unstable in years.

Teddy knelt down in front of his father, tears welling up in his own eyes. “Oh, Dad. When did it happen? Why didn’t you say?”

“That’s how we solved the puzzle, Teddy,” Quentin said. “We solved it together. I found the tile when I started to dig his grave. The beauty of all life found in death, whatever you want to make of that.”

They sat a minute, together, silent.

Teddy squeezed his Dad’s hand. “Come with me,” he said. “He wouldn’t want you to be alone. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Quentin shook his head. “Our life was here, Teddy. His body is here. I can’t just leave him-“

Teddy moved to sit beside Quentin, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. “Dad. You found the beauty of all life. That doesn’t mean your life is over. The grandkids would love to see you.”

Quentin sighed. “I know they would.”

They stayed sitting side-by-side for a long time.

\- - -

Teddy stayed, a quiet and supportive anchor to the world, but Quentin still couldn’t help but feel slightly adrift as they worked through the cottage together, gently packing Eliot’s clothes away into a trunk. Eliot left traces throughout the entire cabin—the decorating he’d insisted upon, despite the simplicity of their surroundings, the soft bedding he’d bargained for, his extra pair of glasses left on the bedside table. The smell of him clung to the pillow which Quentin couldn’t help but press his face into at night, unused to sleeping alone.

One evening about two weeks after his arrival, Teddy and Quentin sat outside on the mosaic eating dinner.

“So,” Teddy said contemplatively. “You solved the mosaic. Where’s the key?”

Quentin dunked his bread into his stew, avoiding Teddy’s eyes. “I gave it to someone.”

“You gave it away!?”

Quentin nodded. “She needed it for something important. I can’t explain, really.”

“Fine.” Teddy sighed. “Dad, I love you, but you know I can’t stay here forever. My family’s waiting on us.”

“Teddy, I told you, I won’t leave him alone here,” Quentin answered.

“And I can’t leave you alone here. Come with me,” Teddy said, pleading.

Quentin shook his head, and they passed the rest of the meal in silence. But later that evening, as Quentin stood at the head of Eliot’s grave, he felt the numbness sinking in again. He closed his eyes, conjuring the memory of Eliot’s eyes full of sparking life and mirth and love. He knew then that he couldn’t stay here, plagued by memory, if only because that’s the life that Eliot would have wanted for him. He’d felt alone for so many years back on Earth, a lifetime ago, but he couldn’t allow himself to be alone now. Their life together had taught him that.

He walked back into the cottage, drawing the attention of Teddy who sat at the table in the small kitchen.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

Teddy nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need to write a letter,” Quentin said.

They left the next morning, letter to Margo left with an exasperated royal coachman who begrudgingly accepted a letter that wouldn’t be delivered for decades, simply because it was the least ridiculous request he'd received all week.

Quentin left fresh flowers magically blooming around Eliot’s new headstone:

_Eliot Waugh: Magician, High King, Husband, Father, Friend._

\- - -

And then they were young again, sitting in the Whitespire throne room as a half-century worth of emotions and memories flooded through their minds, leaving both of them reeling. Fifty years, and every moment felt immediate and real—Arielle and Teddy and their cottage and the mosaic, a lifetime’s worth of loving each other. Being in their young bodies felt suddenly dissonant, like being thrust into an odd dream.

“I got so old,” Eliot said, barely registering the peach still clutched in his numb hand.

“You died,” Quentin said, turning to look at Eliot, mind whirring. _I buried you, I mourned you, I missed you, I love you, and now you’re back and here and alive and miraculously whole and young and I want to kiss you and hold you close and sink into each other and_ -

“I died,” Eliot said.

And Quentin couldn’t help himself, remembering those short years after Eliot died. They were good years, spent in Teddy’s farmhouse surrounded by his grandchildren and helping as much as he could, even as his body grew feebler with age. But he’d always felt his loss keenly, in the silence between the moments of hubbub and life with his family. His grandchildren loved to hear his stories and pulled him out to explore the forest and fields surrounding the home, their tiny hands clinging to his. He loved them, loved their innocence and curiosity. But Quentin found the beauty of all life in Eliot Waugh, and he’d spent those years blanketed in simmering grief, waiting for a reunion in the afterlife. Had they found each other in the underworld? He couldn’t remember now, everything after death seemed so hazy, but all he knew was that he had no choice. Arielle and Teddy were beyond his reach, and he knew he would mourn them, but he’d found Eliot again. They’d found each other, and Quentin had to be brave. He had to try.

He took his chance, hope blooming in his chest, gazing into the eyes of the man that he’d mourned for years and loved for nearly as long as he could remember.

And Eliot smiled at him before he punctured Quentin’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to end it there, but hey, blame the show.


End file.
